Fiction

I would weave in the tears of a mermaid, the breath of my love, and the drop of the ocean

sing even if you sing badly; dance even if you dance horribly; write even if you write terribly; love even if you are bad at it.

In a world where wealth inequality is at an all time high, Ray Miller is forced to make crushing decisions to stay alive...

You hold me again. In your arms. The rain is pouring even harder now, coming down like warm, wet paint splattering our arms and faces until we're drenched in it.

I got home from work at nine o’clock and decided that I would go down, through the gate, across the creek–socks mushy all of a sudden in my Adidas sneakers–and into the meadow for a walk without stopping to see anyone.

I am with my best friend, at her kitchen table, trying to tell her about a hard time I'm having.

I'm six on the living room floor -

the pink album the pink album I chant -

dad puts the Supremes on the record player, the jacket handed to me -

pink, with three of the most beautiful women I've ever seen -

I’m not sure which is worse, having my hair torn out everyday and markers drawing ‘makeup’ on my face, having a dog chew on my arm and a toddler chew on my leg.

This place held nightmares. Its beauty was extraordinary. Something straight out of a movie. The water was jet black, so that when the sun was setting you could see its orange hues reflecting on the water.

The old woman guides him past the wooden blue-coated porch. Past the tall grass and the gravel path driven beneath it.

With a little bit of luck, you can get exactly what you wished for. Charlie Reese has been wishing for the same thing ever since fourth grade.

I’m at a seminar, for leadership.

Here, kids are like me: perfectionists, great students, excelling, afraid of not being enough.

Everyday, we scream our heads off to a cheer, O-U-T-S-T-A-N-D-I-N-G.